The Death of Constatine
by LynchingVerse
Summary: The story of John Constatine's demise shortly after Twilight VIII. One Shot.    Originally posted by Cracklord.


The leather coated mystic finished sketching out the infernal triangle on the floor in blood, mostly his pigs from the butcher but roughly 1/5 his own. Without establishing a connection, it would not go well for him at all. He sprinkled powdered bone into the proper symbols in each of the spaces, painstakingly crafting each one with all the care he could. It was not good enough to get just the shape correct; bits of his own essence, what would be called a soul if he had one, had to reside within each sigil, giving the necessary energy with which to complete the act and trap him within. At last he was done, and flicked his fingers, closing the circle and completing the rite.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the lines caught aflame, burning fiercely, supernaturally, given that rabidly drying blood was not what you'd call easily combustible. The heat was intense, but in his line of work you got used to the occasional bit of discomfort. He spoke the words he had used once before, and reflected how pleased he was that he did not know precisely what they meant. Whenever he took the time to find out he was physically ill.

This was a seriously bad decision, but need overcame his caution. The flames roared from the center of the symbol to consume the powdered bone sigils, the circle lost in the perfect circle of roaring flame, as the portal stabilized enough for the being called to step through. Constantine gasped as tongues of fire licked his hair, setting it aflame, and it was all he could do not to rock back and try desperately to pat it out. Tears welled in his eyes but he dared not wipe them away lest it spoil the incantation. It took every ounce of his self control but he managed to complete the call without stumbling over any of the phrases. He just hoped that the fire on his scalp wasn't a sign he messed up.

Just as the conflagration threatened to turn his room into a crematorium, Constantine felt the arrival of the Lord of Hell.

"Arise, slave, and behold my glory." Commanded a deep voice he heard with his head rather than his ears, and Constantine looked at him. He wasn't kneeling, but his eyes were lowered, mostly to protect them. The massive figure of Lord Shax looming above him was ridiculously tall, as though a tower had somehow been animated and given the ability to move. It's dark wings scraped the corners of the room, and its terrible form was concealed by suffocating black smoke. It's talons flex, and it's enormous head, like that of a crow or raven, looks down it's beak at the street magician, massive pupil widening.

"Wot do you soddin' call this, then?" Constantine yelled, pointing at his head. "Think it's funny, do you?" Any normal man would be in the process of crapping their pants. Constantine had met and even conversed with Dream and plenty of terrible things. He'd worked up a resistance to this sort of being. Which wasn't to say he wasn't terrified. It's just he was so used to the feeling it didn't effect him very much.

There was a rumble like an earthquake, and Constantine almost lost his footing as he felt the walls and floor vibrate. For a moment he looked around in alarm, then realized it was the demon laughing. "Afraid of a little fire, insect? Remember, there is plenty more waiting for you on the other side. An ocean of it."

"Pissed off is what I am, you soddin' wanker." He grumbles, having patted his spiky hair with the palms of his hands until it had stopped smoldering. it was still smoking, but that was for a hairdresser to worry about. At least the damage to his skin wasn't too bad, just lightly charred. It probably wouldn't even scar. "Anyway, way I see it, we drew up a contract. You owe me."

"Do I? Refresh my memory." Shax says, talons twitching in a manner that was difficult to read. Maybe he was excited. Maybe he was thinking about fastening them around Constantine's neck and crushing him until every bone in his body cracked under the pressure.

"Pretty standard Faustian stuff. You get my soul when I die. Well, you and everyone else, anyway. And you owe me a service in the meantime, yet to be determined. Well I'm callin' in the marker now. Answer my question, and your side is well and done."

"I see." Shax replied. There was some quality in his tone, some eagerness, that Constantine really should have noticed, but he was still too flustered and annoyed to pay enough attention. "Well, if it washes my hands of you, then I'll tell you anything you wish to know."

"That's right you can." He reaches into his coat, rummages around a moment, then removes a curious golden upside down pyramid hanging on a chain. "There's a spirit in here. I want to know how to destroy it without damaging the soul trap. Or at least, send it on to either your lot or the wolves of different shades up in the sky. Can you do that?"

"You call me for such a simple matter?" He sounds shocked.

"Well, I've saved it for a decade and nothings really suggested itself yet. Why not this? If it does what I want, it's better then anything you'll give me"

"Take it apart and the soul will be released. Ensure it is caught in a circle to keep it from escaping. Then to ensure it passes on, trade it to a demon. Once that is done, put the toy back together and when it is complete you will master it's secrets. A simple matter."

Constantine raises his eyebrows. "Right. Too simple. Well, good enough for me. Off you go then." It was a formal dismissal, though not voiced as one. But the flames continue, and the demon remains where it is.

"You still here?" He asks, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and staring at him, attitude in every crease and wrinkle. "Stay much longer I'll charge you rent. It's my place, and I say you're not welcome."

"The time in which you had a say in matters has passed, slipped through your fingers never to be regained." Shax replies, and now a man would have to be deaf to miss the gloating quality in the words. Constantine opened his mout to ask what the hell he was talking about, but all that came out was a rattling wheeze and a spray of blood. His vision bluring and his hands shaking, he doubled up as he struggle to breathe, but no air was making it to his lungs. Spots danced before his eyes, and hammers pounded from inside his skull.

"Your health. Never take a gift from a demon, you never know what manner of interest will build before we take it back. Suppressing your symptoms took a toll on your body, though you never felt it or guessed what it was going through. Now that nothing is blocking what has been eating away at you without your notice for quite some time, it is all hitting you at once." Shax said, and the room rumbled again as he laughed and laughed. "You didn't notice, too besotted with your own cleverness and the illusion of health, but the world has moved on. The Triumvirate has resolved itself, as I knew it would. Mephisto's gambit failed, and he has fled, leaving his realm behind and all memory of his name erased as he goes into hiding. What choice did he have, once two mortals saved the child's mother from Hell." His eye twinkles with mischief and sadistic glee, as well as pride at having ousted one of his rivals. "I may have had some part in it. And as for Astaroth, his alliance has broken now that his son has refused his destiny, and so his own power is weakened. Alone he could never contest me. Not when I have the Wrath of the Almighty itself locked in my kingdom, imprisoned and bound by my will. Now all I await is the awakening of The Morningstar to name me Seneschal of perdition."

Shax leaned forward, a crackle of energy flashing as he penetrated the impotent barriers of the summoning circle easily. That had never been more then tradition, no circle could hold him, Constantine has been relying on the understanding he had to keep him out of trouble. Apparently, it was a lot more fragile then he'd hoped. A huge taloned hand snatched up the occultist by his chest, crushing it with the snap of breaking ribs as he lifted the man so that they were face to face. Constantine shrieked as he felt his face melt under the heat of the demon's presence. He could smell his flesh cooking. The hair that remained withered and burned away, and his body caught fire.  
>"I rule Perdition in all but name. And you have a debt to pay, Constantine. A debt you ran from, but has found you at last." He says, then opens his beak wide, wide enough to swallow him whole in one bite. "It's time to give the devil his due."<p> 


End file.
